


Imagine Me There

by isthisathingnow



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Minor pining, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisathingnow/pseuds/isthisathingnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire walks the stairs to the meeting room and wonders what he'll find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Me There

**Author's Note:**

> This as for a task I did in class. I'm sorry for how brief it is. I considered continuing it but never really found the inspiration.P lease let me know if you'd want it continued.

The lights of The Café Musain shone obnixiously bright in Graintaire's eyes. His gave drifted skyward, searching, pondering. He could scarcely recall observing the suns descent and yet here he stood, on the pavement he had been standing for what seemed, to him, like his entire life, in the starlight.

He wasn't certain that he would be accepted into the building. Of course, there was no reason that he shouldn’t. He was, after all, her most frequent habitue. But perhaps she had witnessed him fencing or boxing and did not take kindly to him frequenting other establishments and would immediately thwart his attempts at entering.

Deciding that the sweet nectar of her wine was far too palatable to wander away from, Monsieur Grantaire braved the doors and found himself greeted by sights, smells and sounds that were wonderfully commonplace.

He did not wish to make conversation. He thought that perhaps he ought to but could not bring himself to do so. He ran his hand along the shoulders of the people he passed. Grantaire,being familiar enough with the patrons to take such personal liberties, received little more than a smile in response.

Taking the stairs to the frequently occupied meeting room, he mused over the possible personages he might come across. Perhaps he would find Joly scribbling in his journal while bundled in an altogether inappropriate number of coverlets and sniffing into a hankerchief.

Or perhaps he would stumble upon Bahorel, his laughing mistress perched atop his lap, drinking as he so often does; heartily and absent his manners.

It was more likely however that it would be Jehan Prouvaire that he came upon. He would, no doubt, be seated at the window, letting the gentle breeze wash over his face. Grantaire knew that despite shoving him along the streets, the winds dare not blow harshly against the poet.

Grantaire allowed himself a moment to consider what it would be like to find their leader seated upon a chair as if it were a throne. His hair might be plastered to his forehead with sweat and his face might be flustered for reasons Graintaire promised himself he'd conjure another time.

On the tail of that thought came the realization that if Enjolras is there, it was almost certain that he would be accompanied by either Combferre, Courfeyrac or by both men. It was exceedingly rare to see one member of the triad without the other two in close proximity.

Grantaire wondered, as he did on occasion, more than he or anyone else would care to admit, if he should close his eyes before he reached the top of the stairs. He had a relative amount of trust in his ability to climb the stairs without accident. Lord only knew the number of times he'd ascended the steps in a drunken state. Surely he could accomplish the feat sober.

The upstairs room was silent. Although Graintaire could not see what that meant as his eyes were now tightly shut. He was almost certain that there was someone there despite the silence. He felt as though he had a talent for sensing energies around him and this energy, Graintaire mused, had a distinct Bousset feel to it.

It was likely that the energy (man) in question was reading on a lounging chair after misplacing the key to his lodgings. The more Graintaire pondered, the surer he was that it was not Bousset after all. He decided that he was very certain that it was in fact Feuilly who had fallen asleep after his shift at the paper mill.

Grantaire had been standing at the landing of the staircase for a long moment, one hand clutching the railing close-to-desperately, the other clenching and unclenching at his side. He did not think he was a nervous man. In fact if you asked him, most people don't, he would say that he is a carefree man. He knows that this is not true but it is simply what he would tell them on the occasion that somebody happened to ask him.

He was twitching with nerves that he didn't dare acknowledge. Whether it was out of fear or frustration, Graintaire couldn't say as he hardly knew himself.

He took a moment to spin around so he would not ruin the moment he had set up for himself and opened his eyes to inspect himself. His culottes were fitted enough to his legs, his shirt, while somewhat disheveled, held no particularly strange discolourations, his vest was still distinctly green, and his scarf was as striped as the day he pulled it from Enjolras' neck and tied it around his own. All in all, he was presentable. No more or no less than he would be on any other day however this, today, was not any day.

He had not touched a single drop of wine . Considering this an impressive fear, Grantaire congratulated himself in place of his friends. Enjolras would be as pleased, he thought. Perhaps he would even grace Grantaire with a smile for his achievement, only to be disgusted by some other feat or quality Grantaire had no idea he had completed or possessed.

With an impulsive spin, Grantaire found, in the upstairs room of the Café Musain, exactly what he had wanted.


End file.
